


New Horizons

by minnieteez



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Character Development, Chicago (City), Coffee Shops, College, Cute, Happy, Hollywood, Jealousy, Los Angeles, M/M, New York City, OT8, Sad and Happy, Sad and Sweet, Slow Build, Slow Romance, Summer Vacation, actor san, baker mingi, dancer mingi, dancer yunho, everyone lives in one big mansion for a while, everyone's friends here, film student hongjoong, living their dreams, might get sad here and there, poet yeosang, rich seonghwa, singer jongho, smart mingi, smart wooyoung
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnieteez/pseuds/minnieteez
Summary: Short entries into the daily lives of eight young adult boys, all trying their best to achieve their dreams and figure out who they are. They may not be all together at the beginning, but when they converge in the heart of success and fame, the eight of them might find new treasures and wonders with the others by their side. Or it might go wrong and it might turn into chaos? Who knows?"It's San, Wooyoung and Mingi in one place. How can there be anything BUT chaos?" - Park Seonghwa
Relationships: ATEEZ Ensemble/Everyone, Choi Jongho/Choi San/Jeong Yunho/Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang/Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa/Song Mingi, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Kim Hongjoong, Jung Wooyoung/Park Seonghwa, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. Coffee and Crying over Instagram

_**Hongjoong** _

“Hwa,” Hongjoong whines, with a huff at the end, squeezing the iPhone slightly tighter than needed, but this boy really is testing his patience. “I’m going to be late for _class_.” He then looks at the paper cup filled with a two-shot Americano on the bench, the steam floating into the wind.

His shoulders sag. “Plus, my coffee’s getting cold.”

His elder chuckles while changing his pose, leaning against the lamppost and looking into the distance with tangible mystery. “You _know_ that if you didn’t need this photo for your portfolio, you would have left already. Besides,” he changes his pose, brushing his hair aside, and then winks at Hongjoong. “You can’t resist taking photos of me.”

He crosses his arms and huffs again, unable to refute what Seonghwa just said. Ever since they were kids, Hongjoong would seem as if he were almost obsessed with his best friend, always taking photos of the two of them with his disposable cameras, and then dragging his mum to the nearest pharmacy to have them developed.

“First of all, it’s a video that you’re going to go through _yourself_ to find the photos. Secondly, you know that you like having them taken.”

Seonghwa shrugs, flashing a smile. “Is that such a crime?”

The younger smiles back, remembering the days where Seonghwa would secretly take some of his developed photos and plaster them on his wall, even though his family held annual photoshoots. “Not since I found that photo of you picking your nose.”

Pausing, Seonghwa’s ears redden and he puts his hands on his hips. “That was in second grade!”

“And in a scrapbook at my house right now. Good memories.”

“You still have that?” The blood visibly drains from his face, thinking of the possibilities. “But it’s probably just tucked away in a book or something, right?”

Hongjoong laughs. “For now. It might make a good ‘Throwback Thursday’ post, though.”

Before he knows it, Seonghwa grabs him around his waist and traps his arms against him. Hongjoong does all he can not to let the phone drop out of his hand. “You wouldn’t dare.” His tone is joking, albeit with some fear.

“Buy me dinner, and we have a deal.”

“I was going to do that, anyway,” Seonghwa whines, letting go of him, straightening his coat. Walking over to the bench, he takes a sip of Hongjoong’s coffee, and his face drops slightly. “Your coffee’s kinda cold. You want me to buy you a new one?”

He shakes his head in response. “It’s okay – you already bought me this one.”

“Only because you helped me with my business management homework,” Seonghwa huffs. “God, how are you so good at _everything?_ ”

__

Hongjoong replies with a smile, “And _that_ was because you got my microphone repaired last month – my finals project for film class would have been toast without it,” and puts on his gloves, ignoring the last bit of the question. It’s nice that people compliment him all the time, but it gets a little embarrassing after a while. It’s all just long hours and hard work.

Seonghwa and him walk out of the entrance of the park and continue towards the Arts department of the main NYU campus. “Yeah, but you didn’t _need_ it. You still won first place at the First Run Film Festival. I mean, that’s _huge,_ Hongjoong.”

“Yeah, and?” Hongjoong says nonchalantly, but he doesn’t like how the conversation is going. He throws his coffee cup away, thinking of how to deflect the conversation. “You know how -”

“Sometimes,” Seonghwa cuts in, and Hongjoong stops, surprised. “Sometimes, I don’t really know what I’m doing at NYU.”

“What do you mean? You’re in one of the top business schools in the country. You got accepted into _Harvard._ You’re extremely gifted.”

Seonghwa forces his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, but what does that _mean?_ I don’t have any passion for it – not like you do, with art, and film, and music. You love _everything_ you do. I’m just running through the bases.”

Hongjoong’s expression saddens from hearing this, but he can’t show that to his best friend. He jumps in front of him, and puts his hands on Seonghwa’s cheeks, slapping them lightly. “Don’t think of it like that. You’ll find it, and when you do, it’ll be the most amazing thing New York has ever seen.”

“Hongjoong, I -”

“Just don’t go into sports, okay?” He jokes, stepping back in line with Seonghwa.

Seonghwa blushes again, probably also thinking back to seventh grade. “That was one time.”

“You fell on your face.” The chuckles were already spilling out of his mouth.

“The soccer field was muddy, okay?” Seonghwa buries his hands in his face.

“It was the middle of summer, Hwa,” Hongjoong answers, clutching his stomach from laughter. “And then the mud was on your shirt for picture day - ”

“Joong, _stop._ ”

“The only thing that made middle school worth it.”

Sighing, Seonghwa jogs away from Hongjoong, bouncing with his hands in his pockets, and eventually finding his way up the stairs to the main entrance of the building where Hongjoong has his theory classes. Hongjoong runs after him, probably looking pathetic because of his stupidly short legs. “You didn’t have to run a marathon to get here, you know,” he puffs out, slightly breathless.

“Oh, I know,” he says, flashing Hongjoong a sly smile. “Also, it’s cute that I leave you speechless.”

Hongjoong mimics him saying that, an annoyed expression on his face while he takes out his phone and checks his feeds. “Ooh, where’d you get that pick-up line? Love Island?”

“You weren’t supposed to tell anyone about that.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Hongjoong whispers to his Instagram feed and nearly drops his phone down the flight of stairs. “This cannot be real.”

Seonghwa leans over Hongjoong, looking over his shoulder at the phone. “What’s up? Did something happen?”

“Only the best moment of my life,” he replies, too ecstatic to do anything else than open an Instagram page and beam at his best friend. “Check who followed me.”

“@yun.arthoe?” Seonghwa reads out his display name, visibly confused. “Is this guy important or…?”

Hongjoong sighs to himself. “I’m surprised by how ignorant you can be at times. Jeong Yunho is only one of the most acclaimed art critics at the moment. And he’s _our_ age – he even studies at Berkeley, a drama student. I’ve been following him for a year now; I love his film reviews.”

“Then did you see that he reviewed your short film for the First Run?”

Hongjoong pauses and turns to Seonghwa. He stutters, “What – what did you say?”

“Yeah,” Seonghwa taps onto a link in Yunho’s bio, and his most recent review pulls up on the screen. The title card of Hongjoong’s accredited work shows up, along with a short caption of Yunho’s opinion. “It says, ‘Precious’ was a raw piece of artistry that truly captured Kim Hongjoong’s skill and soul. I’m excited to see what he does next.’ See, it’s good, don’t be worr- Hongjoong?”

Hongjoong’s face is blank. “Hwa, get ready to catch me.”

“Why?” He instantly gets worried.

“I’m ready to float off into space and onto Cloud 9! This is the best day of my life!”

Hongjoong’s beaming smile made Seonghwa’s smile instantly grow in return. “Okay, sure, but you have to go to class first.”

“Who can focus on _class_ at a time like _this?”_

\--


	2. Hiking and Hollywood Dreaming

* * *

**_Yunho_ **

He hears his name being screamed from above him on the hill, and it shakes him out of his trance. “Come on, Yunho!”

Yunho, trying to draw air into his lungs with all his might, sprints the last few feet and ends up at the second-highest summit of the hill. He collapses and rolls over until his lands by San’s feet and doesn’t move for a few seconds, his eyes closed.

San lowers down and shakes his arm. “Okay, Yunho. You can stop joking now.”

Yunho keeps his face and his muscles slack, and he focuses his breathing, so it slows down. “Yo, dude, this isn’t funny anymore,” San says, his voice becoming all the more anxious. He shakes Yunho, rougher than before, and – if he were showing consciousness – he would have pinched him for the disrespect. “Come on, Yunho. Get up.”

Yunho lays on the ground, unresponsive, doing his best not to cough the dirt out of his nose. He hears San walk a bit away, and he opens his eyes slightly to see San whip out his phone and dialing in only three numbers.

“San, don’t call 911, you dumbass,” he chastises, sitting up and dusting himself off. “And you call _me_ dramatic?”

San rushes to Yunho, and Yunho is startled by the fearsome intensity in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re okay!” The next thing he knows, Yunho is shoved back into the dirt, and San has him in a wrestling chokehold. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“It was part of an assignment?”

“How can scaring one of your best friends to death be part of an assignment?” San pouts while pushing Yunho away, but the smile beaming on his face shows Yunho that he’s not mad anymore. He doubts that San was even upset to begin with.

“It’s not?” Yunho shrugs, his voice raising. San punches him lightly on the arm, and then he helps him up, and they begin to walk further. “But you’ll never know. Although, I just wanted to test my skills against you.”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“You know,” Yunho explains, “If I can convince _you_ – one of the only people who really know me – that I’m on the brink of life and death, then maybe my acting isn’t too bad after all.”

San stops and turns to face him. “Do you _really_ think that your acting is bad?”

“Well, I – ”

“Yunho, you’re one of the best actors I’ve ever seen! How can you not think that?”

“Because -” 

“You _literally_ got into Berkeley’s drama program! You’re going to be a star! It’s a dream come true,” San looks at his best friend, and Yunho cannot help but notice the longing in his eyes amidst the excitement.

Yunho says, “You’re gonna get there one day – it’s only a matter of time and practice. Do you want me to talk to the Dean for you? Maybe we can –”

“I failed, Yunho,” San grumbles, crossing his arms and walks ahead of Yunho. “I prepared for months, I worked _hard,_ and for what? I bombed my audition, and now I have a whole year that I’m just wasting, waiting for opportunities that will never come.”

Yunho’s voice goes stern, trying to cover up the sadness because of San’s inner turmoil. “You _know_ that it wasn’t your fault. Your mind was elsewhere, and you needed to be somewhere else.”

“But if I were a good enough actor, or even a dancer, then my line delivery would have been smoother, and I would’ve had been accepted, regardless of what happened. Good actors are supposed to push down their own feelings and be able to express others at a moment’s notice, and I’m just not good enough for that.”

“Listen,” Yunho says, grabbing his shoulder and turning San around, forcing him to face him. “None of that was your fault. I’ve seen your acting, and you are brilliant. Everybody has their bad days, and it’s just unfortunate that it had to happen on your audition day. You have a few more months to prepare, so why don’t you show those scouts what you’re really made of?”

“Yunho, I - ”

He only pats San on the back and says, “Now, you come on. We gotta get to the top before sundown.”

*

**_San_ **

San has been living in Los Angeles for a few months now, and he still hasn’t made the time to climb up the Mt. Hollywood Trail **.** It had been his lifelong dream since he was fifteen years old, ever since he got the lead role in his first high school play, when he played “The Prince” in The Prince and the Pauper. People said that he was good, and that he could even be one of the best.

Now? He’s not so sure, anymore.

Yunho and him spends the next few minutes chatting about nothing, really, while climbing up the hill, and San’s thoughts just goes haywire, digesting what Yunho had basically shaken into him. _Is he good enough? Or is it just because Yunho, his_ best friend, _had told him that to make him feel better?_ He looks at Yunho’s back, wondering how he manages to do everything. First, he decides that after years getting top marks in dance and attending global auditions, and then he decides that acting is his passion. Getting a scholarship to Berkeley – _Berkeley._ And where was he? A taekwondo prodigy that got nowhere, and just another guy that didn’t get into the college of his dream.

“You okay?”

San’s broken out of his self-deprecating trace just like that, and says to Yunho, “Yeah, of course.”

“Well,” Yunho replies, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows. “We made it all the way to the top, and you haven’t said anything yet.”

“That’s just because –” San begins, and then Yunho grabs him by the shoulders and spins him around, exposing him to the view. “Whoa.”

The view is absolutely breathtaking, and he’s left speechless. It might not be the most beautiful scenery, with the sparse yellowing grass and all (it’s not even _sunset_ ), but seeing the Hollywood sign up and _close_ like that – it makes him feel like his dreams are finally in reach, and that he can finally achieve them.

Yunho’s suddenly in front of him, and he says, “Hey, San. You okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Um,” Yunho’s slightly awkward when he points at my face and flicks his finger across my cheek, swiftly bringing a tear to my view. “You were crying?”

Wiping vigorously at my face, I’m taking off the tears that remain there, my face becoming even redder than they were because of embarrassment. “Ugh, I’m really dumb. Crying in public like a huge baby.”

Yunho grabs me around the shoulders and gives me a side hug like he used to do in highschool. “Nah, you were always a big ol’ softie. You can’t even watch a Disney movie without crying.”

San’s ears redden to match his face. “Hey, Tadashi didn’t _deserve_ it, okay.”

“Yeah, and him and Honey Lemon _belong together!_ ” Yunho sings while spinning around, mocking San while ending in an arabesque. San just fumes for a bit, because of two reasons: 1. He’s being made a fool of, and 2. He’s _really_ jealous of Yunho’s classical dance training. Yunho bows to his imaginary audience and throws his arm over San’s shoulders again, and then proceeds to _pinch_ his cheek.

San scoffs at the audacity. “Like you didn’t cry at the end of Pocahontas.”

“We _both_ did. I don’t know what you want to achieve here.”

They begin to argue while standing at the end of the trail, and a voice behind them says, “Oh, you guys are so cute!”

San whips around, and an older woman in running gear is standing behind us, her curly greying hair framing her face, somewhat out of breath from exertion. “I’m sorry, ma’am, we didn’t mean to block your way.”

“Oh, not at all, sweethearts! You weren’t in the way. I just wanted to congratulate you!”

Yunho lifts his eyebrows. “On what, ma’am?”

“Just on your pride and bravery! It’s so nice to see boyfriends and girlfriends going on dates together regardless of how people feel.”

If San’s face wasn’t beet-red before, it is now more the colour of a firetruck. “Oh, no, this is all – ”

“This isn’t -” Yunho begins, his face also going red.

The woman laughs and says, “You don’t have to explain yourself. Anyways, you’re at the best viewpoint. Would you like me to take a photo of you two?”

San and Yunho, still bloodred in the face, look at each other with slight awkwardness. Yunho, with a small smile, passes his phone with the camera on to the woman. He then looks at San with utmost seriousness and deadpans, “High School Musical style?”

He nods in return. “High School Musical style.”

The woman says, “Okay, I’m going to count to three!”

On the third count, San bounces off the ground and he hears the shutter close. When he lands, him and Yunho walk to see the photo, and they immediately burst into laughter. Both of them are flailing their arms and legs in the photo with their eyes closed, rather than the synchronized look of the HSM cast.

“Is the photo bad?” The woman asks with slight hesitation.

Yunho chuckles, replying, “Not at all. I love it.”

“Me too. Who needs a perfect photo, anyway?” San says, the smile plastered on his face.

“I’m so glad,” she beams as she gives the phone back to Yunho. “Well, I’ll be off for the rest of my hike. Enjoy yourselves, boys.”

She walks past them and up the rest of the trail, and San and Yunho are still standing in the middle of the trail. San looks at him, and his ears grow warm again, thinking of what just happened.

Yunho rubs the back of his neck and blurts out, “You wanna get some coffee or something?”

“Yeah, coffee is good.” San nods with much more energy than necessary. “Last one to the bottom buys the winner a brownie?”

“Okay. Hope you have money on you,” Yunho replies, already rushing forward. San follows him without thinking, and the energy burst makes him laugh, his smile as wide as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ii, everyone! i am SO sorry for not uploading for literal aeons, but things have been pretty hectic (as we all know), and i wanted to upload something i was happy with and focused on myself for a bit. lemme know what you think and what you want to see! i'll try to get it out soon, but i won't fill this space with empty words. hope everyone is keeping safe and well, bye! ／(^ × ^)＼


	3. Baking and Being Annoyed

_**** _

_**Mingi** _

The bell on top of the door rings as the customers leave, the two boys laughing while walking on the sidewalk. “Enjoy your coffee!” Mingi shouts at their retreating figures, his voice barely travelling through the closing door. “And I hope you choke on your brownie while you’re at it,” he mutters angrily, his upbeat demeanour immediately vanishing after the boys are gone. Mingi begins to scrub down the surfaces vigorously to the point where the wood could wear down.

“Whoa,” Wooyoung says from his table, taking his earphones out of his ears. “Who spit in your coffee and called the manager?”

Looking at his friend, he sighs and stops wearing down the counter, gripping the ends with his cloth in hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Were those guys rude to you? Because I will sort them right out,” Wooyoung responds, emphasising his empty threat by flexing his biceps at Mingi, nodding in approval.

Mingi shakes his head, trying not to expose his smile. “If I need to have a blueberry squashed, I’ll let you know.”

“You know it, bro.” Wooyoung flashes a smile back at him while putting the earphones back in his ears. Picking up his pen and turning back to his notes, it’s Mingi’s cue that he needs to let his friend get back to studying.

“But what am _I_ supposed to do?” Mingi whines from the counter, shooting puppy dog eyes at Wooyoung.

It seems as if Wooyoung didn’t even hear him because his eyes are glued to the page he’s reading, but he still responds with, “You’re at work, aren’t you? Clean, or help some customers or something.”

With a sour face, a look around at the now-empty café, and a quick mumble of, “There _are_ no customers,” Mingi quickly finishes his routine of cleaning the coffee machine, making sure that the coffee grounds are perfectly washed out, and then wiping down the surfaces again before moving on to washing the rest of the dishes and setting them to dry. Lastly, he tries to stall for time by gathering the ingredients of the cappuccino muffins for the next morning, extremely tempted to make a small batch for him and Wooyoung. Every few seconds, he turns away from the dishes, looking at the chocolate chips, which are staring into his soul. After a few minutes, he caves and takes the milk and eggs out of the fridge.

The strenuous work is usual for Mingi, but – since it’s the end of finals and everyone is off before holiday, going home and taking an early vacation – there’s almost nobody in the area (except for a few poor souls going to summer classes). He subconsciously takes a breath of relief, knowing that he’s just average enough academically to not need extra classes or do advanced work. He quickly whips up the mixture for the muffins and pours them into the muffin pan after placing the golden cases, making sure that nothing flows over the sides before putting it in the oven, so that they look perfect. He’s got to get that promotion somehow.

Quickly throwing together two espresso macchiatos – Mingi adds a dollop of chocolate syrup over the foam for Wooyoung – and pulling the muffins out of the oven and putting the rest in a container for the next day, he puts four on a plate and takes them to Wooyoung’s table. Careful not to spill anything on Wooyoung’s things, he shifts some of the books to the side and puts the tray on the table. Mingi then swiftly grabs the laptop, saves the document and shuts the laptop.

Wooyoung’s so absorbed in his note making that he doesn’t notice immediately, and he looks up from his sticky notes to change pages before he does. Frowning at the empty space, he looks at Mingi and then it clicks. “Hey! Mingi, give it back!”

He swipes for the laptop, and it’s easy for Mingi to lift it into the air, taking it out of reach. Wooyoung grunts, pulling his chair to stand on it with spurts of energy. In response, Mingi calmly steps onto the chair of the table next to Wooyoung’s, climbing onto the table itself.

“Uh, that’s cheating,” Wooyoung retorts, slightly dumbfounded. “You’re dirtying the table with your last-season Crocs, by the way.”

Mingi just shrugs and says, “Well, I’m the one that’s going to clean up anyway.” He climbs down from the table, places the laptop down and then moonwalks until he’s by his friend’s side again. “And, just so you _know,_ these Nike Jordan’s are just off the shelves.”

“Doesn’t excuse them being just as ugly as Crocs, so what’s the point?” Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at Mingi.

Mingi sticks out his tongue back at Wooyoung, not really able to reply with a good comeback. “Well, not everyone is a model like you are, Mr Handsome. We don’t all know the best trends.”

“Why do you think that I do?” Wooyoung’s expression darkens a little when he sits down.

Mingi pulls the next table’s chair next to Wooyoung’s and sits down. “You’ll hear from the reps soon, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“And what if I do? You know that I have to get my degree before I pursue any sort of modelling career.”

“That doesn’t mean that you have to work yourself to the bone, you know,” Mingi pushes Wooyoung’s coffee and muffin in front of him, shifting his notes further away. His copy of _Introduction to Mercantile Law_ falls to the ground. “You’ve been studying nonstop and doing shoots for _free._ How much sleep have you gotten in the past week, bro?”

Wooyoung’s ears redden while he says, “Dreams never sleep, even if you are.”

“Don’t go all philosophical on me.” Mingi pouts, and Wooyoung pouts back.

“Okay, and how much sleep have _you_ gotten?”

Furrowing his brows, he asks, “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, no,” Wooyoung stands up, incredulous. “You can’t give me that after lecturing me. Don’t act like you haven’t been heading back to the studio every night after work to practise. I don’t know whether I’ve seen you in the dorm by 3am _once_ these last two weeks. Who are you trying to impress?”

Mingi’s surprised by his friend raising his voice at him, but that doesn’t compare to the sinking feeling in his chest when Wooyoung mentioned his dance studio. The surprise that he feels, though, when Wooyoung asks, “That guy from earlier – he’s got something to do with it, right?”

Mingi splutters out, “What- what nonsense are you going on about? I don’t – ”

Wooyoung grabs Mingi’s face and says suddenly, “Mingi… _Mingi._ ”

“Yeah?” Mingi’s confused by the sudden intensity in Wooyoung’s eyes.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Mingi just blinks, and Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on. First, you’re super irritated because he walks in, and now you won’t even _mention_ MDC.”

After a few minutes, he caves and gestures for Wooyoung to sit down again. “Fine. You’re right.” He watches him take a bite out of his cappuccino muffin before he continues. “His name is Jeong Yunho.”

Wooyoung bursts out, “Wait. You mean _the_ Jeong Yunho?”

“You know him?” Mingi’s eyebrows rise in surprise. _Are we thinking of the same person here?_

“ _Know_ him?” Wooyoung looks around at the empty café, his mouth agape. “I’m on the _outside_ of the dance world, but he’s infamous to the point where even I looked him up and went down a rabbit-hole.”

Mingi crosses his arms and leans forward slightly. His voice is almost a whisper when he asks, “So, what do you know about him?”

“That’s the thing. There’s barely any info on the guy. All we know is that he was basically the next Big Thing – he went to Internationals three times by the time he was 17, and there were rumours of him being on _Dancing with the Stars._ ” Wooyoung’s eyes were lit up with curiosity – Mingi always said that he should have gone into journalism or something instead of business.

“What else? He’s about 20 now, right?” Mingi’s heart is pounding in his chest, anticipating what Wooyoung is about to say.

Leaning closer, Wooyoung stares at Mingi dramatically before saying, “He just left.”

Mingi’s shoulders sink as she slinks back into his chair. “I thought you were going to say that.”

“What’s going on, Mingi? How do you know him? Did you just recognise him, or,” Wooyoung stops himself mid-sentence. “Was he the – no, he wasn’t, right? He couldn’t be…” he trails off and looks deeply into Mingi’s face, despondence written all over it. “He was _Yunho_?”

Mingi tries to harden his expression. As he tries, the anger rushes to his mind like a bullet train, and he tightens his fists. “And so what if he is, Wooyoung?”

“I just meant -”

“The guy who used to be my best friend, and he _left_ the world that we found each other in for a random new passion? And he didn’t even _tell_ me himself – I just walked into Millennium one day for Dean to tell me that he’s gone?” He stands up, making the chair topple over in the process.

Mingi turns to Wooyoung, but he immediately regrets it when he sees his expression. A perfect mixture of shock and pity, which is how everyone reacts when they see Mingi respond to the topic of Jeong Yunho. “Go on, you can say how I’m overreacting now, and that things like this happen.”

“Mingi, I’m not going to say that to you,” Wooyoung reaches to Mingi’s arm after picking up the chair and placing it back in its original spot, pulling him down. He gestures for Mingi to pick up his drink, which is less than lukewarm. “Clearly, you haven’t spoken about this enough. What else happened with Yunho?”

He sighs in response. “Well, apparently he went to university or something to do _acting._ ”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing!” Mingi drops his head. “It’s just that all his skill, all the _potential_. He threw it away.”

Wooyoung’s eyes soften. “People can have different passions, though. Why does this affect you so much?”

“Do you have to ask me that? We were in the same dance crew for eight years, and for what? For him to leave me in the dust? Did you see him when he came in here?”

“No. Did he say something to you?”

Mingi’s expression darkens when he answers with, “No, he didn’t. He barely even _looked_ at me. He has this new life now, and he probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“If you were as close as you say, I don’t think –”

“No, Wooyoung,” Mingi’s tone is clipped. “He left, and that’s that. I shouldn’t even be thinking of him anymore. He’s got a new life, and I’ve got mine.”

After a few seconds of silence, Wooyoung stands up and grins widely. “You’re absolutely right – who needs him anyway when you have _me_?” He lightly punches Mingi on the arm. “It’s nearly closing time – we can bunk now, right?”

Mingi turns to the clock, surprised to see that it’s almost 6pm and the sky has turned orange from the sunset. “Yeah, Camryn should be fine with it. We must just clean up, though.” He starts to clear up the plates on the table, placing them on the trays. Wooyoung already went to the back and found the broom and began sweeping. The last time he was around when Mingi got into trouble with Camryn, they _both_ spent two hours after closing to clean the toilets and silverware. Now, they try not to invoke the manager’s wrath on a day-to-day basis.

With the two of them, Mingi officially clocks out at 17:58, now feeling a lot less guilty about bringing out the remaining muffins of the batch that he made for Wooyoung. As he writes in his hours, he asks, “So, what do you wanna do? Head back to the dorm? I have some prep I can catch up on.”

“No way,” Wooyoung shakes his head. Mingi places his book under the counter, and Wooyoung continues, “You can be a computer nerd some other time.”

“Again, says the guy doing advanced classes during the summer.” He picks up the batch, walking to the door and unlocking it, Wooyoung behind him. _I can even_ feel _him bouncing around behind me_ , and Mingi grins at the thought.

“Says the guy who did them during the year,” Wooyoung sticks his tongue out at Mingi.

_Okay, I guess he’s won this round._ Mingi concedes, and Wooyoung happily grabs the plastic container full of muffins out of his hands.

“Besides, Changbin just messaged me – him and a few of the guys are going for drinks and stuff. I texted him saying that we’re on our way.”

“But the muffins?”

“More for me and Changbin, I guess,” Wooyoung pipes up, and he’s too happy for him to refuse. “By the way,” Wooyoung turns to him, suddenly looking a little concerned. “You’re not feeling weird about the whole Yunho thing, right?”

Mingi’s throat is tight while he lies through his teeth, saying nonchalantly, “Yeah, sure. Already forgot about it. Let’s head to the bar – I haven’t seen Changbin in a while.”

“Yeah, Binnie has been asking about you too.” Wooyoung walks ahead of Mingi, and he hears the beeping of the unlocking of Wooyoung’s car.

“I call shotgun!” Mingi shouts out of nowhere, running to the passenger’s seat of the car.

“I’m already driving, genius.”

Wooyoung turns on the engine and reverses out of the parking space, meanwhile Mingi is deep in thought about earlier. All he can think about is Yunho and his smile, looking like he has no cares in the world. Without noticing, he tightens his grip on the seat.

_You might have forgotten about me, Yunho, but I’ll never forget about you. I hate you too much for that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, guys! it's been a while, hasn't it? hope everyone is doing well with everything that's going on - if you need someone to talk to about everything, feel free to reach out to me anytime!
> 
> i didn't mean to make this chapter so dramatic, but anyways (｡╯︵╰｡) // i tried to make it happier with mingi on his break at the end, feeding his iced mocha addiction... anyway, if you guys have any suggestions of anything you want to see or an advice, you're more than welcome - see you soon!


	4. Poetry and Plunging In

**__ **

**_Yeosang_ **

Seemingly staring blankly in front of him, Yeosang attempts to melt into his surroundings. He breathes in heavily, allowing the sweet summer air to enter his system. The grass under his palms, he grips it tightly, waiting for a response. Across the road, a glass tower looms over him, imposing upon the juxtaposition of nature that encases him. _Okay, I might be exaggerating, but it_ is _a tall building. Relatively. Or maybe I’m just short._

His eyes light up. “Why didn’t I think of this earlier?”

Pulling his notebook out of his backpack and a pen with a green fluffy top out of the front pocket, Yeosang wastes no time in anxiously scribbling down his thoughts before it escapes his memory. He spins his body around with his feet, and a small forest greets him back, standing close enough for the leaves to meet one another. He writes a stanza or two, reveling in the wonder of nature. Making sure to jot down every single detail of the scene in front of him, he quickly fills up the remaining space in the margin of the page.

Yeosang springs to his feet, his body already moving towards the trees, his mind a slave to his muscles. He wanders under the trees, the gaps in the leaves scattering golden speckles on the grass under his feet. Touching the tree closest to him, Yeosang feels the grooves of the trunk under his fingertips and memorises the sensation. He closes his eyes, imagining a lake with the forest next to it, twilight slowly turning into dusk. _Utopia._ The thought brings a peaceful smile to his face.

He sits like that for a while, allowing the landscape to create itself around him, his hand rushing so quickly across the pages that – if it weren’t for the quick-drying ink that his mother had bought him – the details would have cascaded into rippling smudges. Only pausing for a brief moment to shuffle his Spotify playlist and take sips of pink lemonade, the sun lazily crawls across the sky while his mind remains fully absorbed in his writing.

It takes him a few minutes to register clicks in his surroundings. Yeosang looks up, and a camera lens is awfully close to his face. “Oh, yes – that form is perfect! Look at that hair… just _radiant_ _!_ ”

Normally, he would have been surprised or even intimidated by the sight, but Yeosang just played along for the camera and pretended. Pretended to be a model. An actor. A guy having the time of his life, living his dream. All three of them at once, maybe. Without a moment’s notice, he turns and winks at the camera, holding his bucket hat closer to his head.

“Agh!” Jongho splutters, pushing the camera away from him, almost hurting his neck because of its strap. “Yeosang, did I tell you that I wanted to burn my eyes today? Because – news flash – that made me want to cough my lungs out.”

Yeosang only laughs in return, starting to collect his things, which is turning out to be exceptionally difficult. _How did my eraser end up by the duck nest?_ “That’s what you get for invading my privacy,” he replies while Jongho hands him a purple watercolour pencil.

“The park does _not_ count as a private space.”

Yeosang retorts, “What about my _mental_ private space?”

Jongho’s eyes light up. “So you wrote something today? Can I see?”

_Shit._ “Uh, about that… you know that my drafts need to be revised –” Yeosang trails off, seeing Jongho wordlessly ask for his journal, his hand outstretched as if he’s waiting for a hand, like an invitation into an adventure novel. Sighing, he pulls the book out of his shoulder bag and places it on Jongho’s palm.

Jongho’s expression is eager yet pensive when he pulls out the bookmark that Yeosang left, although he would have known where to find the newest entry because of them animatedly sharing pieces the night before. His facial features grow more pensive, eyes widening and shrinking while becoming more engrossed in the details, the plot pulling him in. At least, that’s what Yeosang is hoping for. _He may be my best friend, but he’s also my worst critic._

Jongho stares at the unfinished chapter’s last paragraph and hands the journal back to Yeosang without a sound, subconsciously permitting his heart to race. “So?” He bites his tongue, not wanting to press Jongho for an answer, while simultaneously wanting to strangle him in order to force an answer out of him. “My life’s work and passion – on the floor for you to rip apart, and… go!”

He turns to Yeosang, and Yeosang braces himself. “If you were trying to make me bored,” Jongho pauses, and Yeosang’s heart sinks to his stomach. “Then I’m sorry, dude – you are _sorely_ disappointed.”

It takes a moment for the slick compliment to hit him, but when it does, he immediately pushes Jongho’s shoulder, who evidently doesn’t expect that amount of strength from Yeosang and falls to the ground. Instinctively gripping onto Yeosang, they both land into a heap over their belongings. “Have you been going to the gym lately?” Jongho asks, puffing grass blades out of his mouth. “That was quite a shove.”

“Nope, but annoyance can be quite an energy source,” Yeosang rolls his eyes, lifting himself from Jongho’s shoulder. Then realizing what just happened, he starts looking frantically around Jongho. “Where’s my journal? _Please_ don’t tell me it’s damaged.”

Jongho chuckles and springs to his feet, pulling a hand from under his jacket. “Do you really think that I’d let something happen to your _magnum opus_? I’ve had far too many manuscripts and compositions be nearly destroyed to take that chance.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but what I don’t appreciate is your subtle flexing about how much experience you have,” Yeosang gripes, handing Jongho his skateboard, to which he shakes his head in decline. “You just went to the gym for leg day and then walked here, are you sure?”

“I drank a protein shake diluted with Monster before I came here,” Jongho smiles conspiratorially at his best friend. “My muscles aren’t even aware that they exist right now.”

Turning his head sharply to Jongho, squinting in disapproval (while also trying to not show him how impressed he was by the feat). “How are you even _alive?”_

He intertwines his fingers behind his head while he replies, “Living in the gym has its perks, I guess.”

The two walk together in companionable silence for a while, and Yeosang pulls out his phone every now and then to take note of their changing surroundings – photos documenting the change from the quiet and green atmosphere of the park into the bustling nature of the city, typing the sounds of the cars into his phone.

“Is that for your _blog?”_ Jongho suddenly asks him, almost making Yeosang drop his phone from surprise. “I _really_ can’t believe that you do that. It’s great that you’re putting your work out there, but _wow_ – kinda lame, bro.”

Rolling his eyes, he doesn’t make much of Jongho’s obvious joke. His smile makes it all the more obvious, anyway. “First of all –“

“Oh, here we go,” Jongho fake whines, but Yeosang ignores it.

“It’s not a blog; it’s an Instagram page – what era do you think we live in? 2009? No one’s on Wordpress or Tumblr, anymore.”

“Nerd.”

Yeosang stops in his tracks to stare incredulously at Jongho. “Says the guy who wrote an entire symphony in honour of Lin-Manuel Miranda.”

“He wrote the _Moana_ soundtrack!” Jongho’s eyes goes wide at the idea of disrespecting the Broadway master. “And _Hamilton!_ A musical genius.”

“Whatever – you’re just as big as a nerd as I am, if not more.”

“You really sure about not wanting to work on the project with me?” The tone in Jongho’s voice completely changes, suddenly extremely serious. The sudden change in subjects almost gives Yeosang whiplash, but he keeps silent when he remembers what Jongho’s referring to. He continues, “Because it would really be good exposure for your lyrics.”

“Poetry,” he responds curtly.

“Can be really easily adapted into lyrics. You have talent.”

“Yeah, but –“ He trails off, thinking of the possibility of hundreds, if not more, of people hearing his words on stage. “That’s _terrifying._ ”

“No one’s going to see _you_ on stage,” Jongho shakes his head. “I mean, not unless you _want_ them to.”

Yeosang splutters for breath after the suggestion. “Um, _no._ Not in the slightest,” he coughs out. Turning to Jongho, he’s immediately ridden by guilt, seeing the subtle plea in his expression. Sighing in submission, he says, “Just – just give me until the end of the summer to think about it, okay?”

He knows that Jongho only needs to begin production for the next May, as part of his final production assessment, but he wants to give it a bit of time before he lets his friend down. The thought makes him bite his lip in deep thought.

“Cool,” Jongho grins at him, already beginning to walk again. “Too bad that I’ll have to celebrate with you over text and not in person.” Yeosang furrows his eyes in confusion while Jongho says, “I can’t wait to spend the days on the beach. Surfing’s gonna be so cool, don’t you think?”

“Where – where are you going?”

“I’m spending the summer with my cousin and his friend in California. He’s apparently got a huge beach house-mansion thing nearby the beach.”

Yeosang flutters his eyes, his emotions fighting one another to take over his facial expression. “That’s, uh, cool. Really… _cool,_ yeah.”

While Jongho animatedly chatters on about how excited he is about the trip, wakeboarding, and strawberry farms, Yeosang attempts to make it seem like his heart did not physically plummet into his stomach. _At least, not to visibly show it, anyway._ He knows that, if Jongho leaves for LA, his summer plans are basically driven into the dust. _It’s not like there’s anyone else in Chicago that he knows well enough to hang out with him._

“Hello?” A hand waving in front of his face brings him back to reality. “You’re okay, right? Don’t need any medication or Gatorade?”

Taking a deep breath, he smiles back and says, “No, no. I’m good.”

“I’m being serious, Yeosang,” Jongho deadpans, stopping in front of him, making him aware that they have already made it back to the outskirts of campus, nearby his dorm. “I haven’t seen you this nervous since your final French presentation last month.”

“I just – it’s really nothing. Just thinking about how I’ll have to go to my dad’s this summer.”

“But you _hate_ going to your dad’s.”

“Yeah, but –“

Jongho’s eyes suddenly wake up in excitement, and Yeosang doesn’t know whether to catch onto the excitement or be scared. He grips Yeosang’s shoulders. “Come with me.”

Yeosang’s face starts to burn up, still feeling Jongho’s gaze on him. “What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, and that's all the members introduced !! this chapter was so difficult to write, for some reason
> 
> (i'm so sorry for updating for several months, but i graduated in that time, so yay, ig !!! if you have any ideas / suggestions / wishes for following chapters, please let me know!)
> 
> ps : if anyone can guess my bias, then i'll be super happy and impressed (and if i can, i'll show you an edit i have) !! hope everyone is doing well (＞﹏＜)
> 
> ((pps: also , skater / athlete boyfriends , we love to see it !!))

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys - i'm tj and it's awesome to see y'all. hope that you enjoy my work, and if you want to see anything in particular, please let me know! i love knowing what people think and it helps me out at the end of the day, too! have a good day, and hope to see you in another update soon!
> 
> (this is my first time on ao3 ever, please don't hate on me ༼☯﹏☯༽ )


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